


Better late than not at all

by Havokftw



Series: He's more myself than I am. [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, M/M, Police, Prostitution, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: Seungcheol’s a cop, and it’s his duty to uphold the law. But things aren't always that simple.





	Better late than not at all

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY JICHEOL WEEK!  
> Day 2: Soulmate

Seungcheol’s a cop, and it’s his duty to uphold the law.

On Friday night he leaves his car a long damp walk from the boxing gym he trains in because parking's shitty in this side of town. He’s got the weekend off for a change and plans to make the most of it, so cuts through a couple of alleys to shorten the walk from ten blocks to five, realizing belatedly that his detour is taking him through a charming patch prevalent for prostitution known as ‘Sugar-Boy Alley’.

It’s a rookie mistake, which is unforgivably stupid of anyone who isn't a tourist and twice over for a fucking veteran cop in the Daegu PD, but there he is, striding past rows of skimpily dressed guys he knows will turn up all too soon pale in hospital rooms or paler in the morgue. That’s if they don’t get _arrested_ first.

Most of them are pretty sly about it, have experience and know when to melt into the background. They dress classy or work out of bars and pose as pretty patrons on the street. Then there are others just asking to get arrested; whistling at cars that drive by and walking right up to men strolling down the pavement.

Men like Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s a cop, and it’s his duty to uphold the law. But he’s technically off duty, and out of uniform—and a long weekend beckons him, so he ducks his head, hunches his shoulders, and walks faster.

He manages to evade most of the offers, until he takes a right turn down one alleyway and a strong hand catches his arm.

"Where's the fire?" asks a husky voice.

Seungcheol spins on his heel and makes the even more fatal mistake of _looking_.

The brown eyed boy is a good foot shorter than him, has a lollypop in his mouth, his tongue flickering against it with a little smile. He’s blond and incongruously wholesome-looking in a battered leather jacket, snug dark printed tee and decent jeans. It isn't till the second glance that Seungcheol notices the damp dirty knees, the pale yellow of a mostly-healed black eye, the puffiness of those fuckable-looking lips

“What fire?” Seungcheol asks, brows knitted with concern.

The guy’s startled laugh is low and warm. “Uh—the one that’s lit under your _ass_ , making you walk so fast. What’s the rush?”

“I got somewhere I need to be.” Seungcheol replies, decidedly unimpressed.

The boy’s eyes narrow at him, the lollypop lowers before he pulls it out of his mouth with a lewd pop. He throws it over his shoulder, and then he's surging forward in a rush, stepping right up into Seungcheol’s space and pressing up against him. His hands are on Seungcheol's chest. Hips tilted up to grind against Seungcheol’s thighs. There's suddenly not enough air in the _world_.

"If you spare five minutes," the boy begins, fluttering his lashes and tilting his head a little. "I’ll make them the best five minutes of your _life_."

Seungcheol banishes the suggestion as quickly as it enters his mind, but not quite quickly enough to discard the unwelcome realization that the boy makes a dangerously appealing argument.

He tries to mask his reaction, but the boy catches it anyway, and a hopeful, mischievous smile edges cautiously across his face.

"How old are you?" Seungcheol asks, because the kid can't be eighteen yet, and the boy just smiles wider, brashly taking it for _encouragement_.

"Oh, I’m older than I look. But don’t worry," He smirks, shifting closer, looking up out of eyes a man could drown in. "I'm however old you want me to be." He purrs, his hand trailing south.

Seungcheol knows he needs to stop him. He needs to intercept and catch the boy’s wrist before— Christ, he's already hesitated too long and now nimble fingers are slipping recklessly, shamelessly over the bulge in his jeans. The guy’s undoing his buckle, pulling at the leather, reaching for Seungcheol's fly once the belt is out of the way.

 _Seungcheol knows_  where guys like this have been, where they were going, but his dick is actually throbbing against his fly. He jerks out of touching range and pulls out his badge, saying, "I’m taking you in," as he grabs the kid's bicep.

The boy’s eyes flare wide and harden fast as Seungcheol turns and starts tugging him back the way he'd came.

“What the fuck!” The kid snarls, sudden ferocity breaking through the thin veneer of calm and bravado. He moves with unexpected speed and in the span of a blink, he hits Seungcheol in the solar plexus, knocking out his breath and breaking free.

“You little shit!” Seungcheol yells, stumbling against the brick wall briefly, before he breaks into pursuit.

The kid _whacked_ him.

He fucking  _hit a police officer_ , and really, why is Seungcheol surprised? No prostitute wants to get dragged into lockup on a late Friday night. That’s prime money-making hours that they’re missing out on. But for some reason Seungcheol hadn’t though this kid had it in him to deck an officer.

He almost gets away, too, if he’d just look where he’s going. But the kid is darting anxious glances back at Seungcheol as he makes a run for it, and inevitably trips on something.

It’s just dumb shitty luck that drives him to his knees, let’s Seungcheol catch up with him, get a hand on his shirt collar and drag him up.

“Let go of me pig!” The kid spits.

Seungcheol claps a hand over a narrow shoulder and shoves him forward. “You just added assault of a police officer to your rap sheet dumbass.”

He slams the boy against the alley wall, reciting his Miranda rights as he wenches his arms behind his back and pulls out his cuffs.

It’s just a quick glance down that makes him stop. A glimpse of inked flesh over a pale wrist that hits him like an eighteen-wheeler, knocking the air from his lungs. Time seems to stop, and something inside of Seungcheol tightens, like a cord pulled taut then releasing, slightly.

Trying to get a better look at the inscription, he grabs the wrist in question and tugs it up, hard enough to illicit a pained yelp.

“Fuck, _stop—I’m_ not resisting anymore. _Jesus_.” The boy hisses, his breath coming faster and heavier in response to the awkward angle straining his wrist.

Shaking his head, Seungcheol finally snaps the cuffs tight and tugs the boy away from the wall. He keeps his badge ready in the other hand, but it’s really a sign of everything wrong with this city that no one looks twice at an angry man dragging a handcuffed kid through the streets.

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s a cop and it’s his duty to uphold the law. He works through all the angles before making  _any_  move, because whatever move he makes, he needs to know it's the right one. He's not a man of snap judgments and split second decisions. Which means he's got no explanation for why he circles the block over and over instead of driving the kid straight to the station.  

Currently his mental voice is a panicked mantra, loud and flurried, running circles of ' _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_ ' over and over.

He’s trying to decide what to do, but it’s difficult because the moment he threw the kid into the back seat the boy's mouth fell right open around begging. The usual sort of sob story: a terrible life at home, abusive father, mother dead forever ago, unloving foster parents and a controlling pimp. And the shitty bit is that Seungcheol doesn't doubt it is all true, except for the name, because no way is this kid named _'Woozi_.' But when _'Woozi'_ says, "if we keep circling the block he’ll see me," all flat and final like that, so Seungcheol pulls over in another alley, telling himself he’ll just talk to the kid a bit. _Then_ haul him in.

He doesn’t want to use a  _be reasonable_  tone, _‘This is no life for you—I can get you help’_ because that is just too fucking ironic, since there’s nothing remotely reasonable about this entire situation. Instead he starts with something simple.

“What’s your _real_ name?”

Woozi just stares back belligerently.

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Yanno, I can just get it later—after I run your prints through our database. Something tells me this isn’t the _first_ time you’ve been hauled in.”

“Fuck you.” Woozi spits back. Then actually spits.

Seungcheol grits his teeth and stares straight ahead. The headlights are off and he can barely make out the dark pattern of bricks in front of his car, but it's still a better place to look than the most obvious alternative.

He forces a steadiness he doesn't feel into his voice when he asks, “Fine. How about your age? Please tell me you’re not--”

“I’m twenty, okay.” Woozi interjects huffily, slouching back in his chair. “I just play up the barely legal image cause it gets more attention.”

 _Twenty_? That doesn’t make any sense. Seungcheol thought they were supposed to be around the _same_ age. It’s mostly the reason why he’d given up looking a decade ago.

Venting out a frustrated breath, he keys the ignition and pulls out of the alley.

He needs to drive this off because there’s a hot, unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach—vulnerability and simmering rage and something else that he doesn’t even want to think about.

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s a cop and it is duty to uphold the law, but he drives the kid out to the cleaner side of town, completely bypassing the station.

At first the boy is sullenly silent, staring at him through the grill for twenty miles, which suits Seungcheol fine; he’s got a lot on his mind right now, and he really doesn't need to hear another word from that too-pretty mouth.

But the minute Woozi notices they’ve passed the station, that they’re heading further north, he starts to panic.

“Hey—.” He clears his throat, leaning forward to talk at Seungcheol through the wire grill dividing them. “Where are you taking me?” He asks, his voice urgent, maybe a little afraid.

Seungcheol ignores him and keeps driving, turning on the radio to drown out the voices screaming in his head. He can't figure out much of anything like this, but he has to try. He has to screw his head on straight before this goes somewhere unforgivable—somewhere there's no coming back from.

Woozi fidgets and huffs in the backseat, practically giving himself whiplash with how quickly he alternates his gaze between the passenger and back windows.

“Hey—officer!” He yells after twenty minutes of silence, “Where are we going?” He seethes, banging on the metal grating with his boot.

“Shut up for a second I’m trying to _think_!” Seungcheol shouts back at him, barely braking for the stop sign at a four-way intersection.

His outburst has it’s intended effect: stunning the boy into a compliant silence.

Seungcheol's apartment is just ahead now—a tall, secure building with a parking garage and an underground entrance—and he tries to focus on the fact that their destination is in sight. Then he hears the boy’s stomach grumbling, audible enough from even the backseat.

He changes his plans and manoeuvres the car down a different road, into a parking space like familiar territory and, hesitating only a moment, turns off the engine.

“Are you hungry? You want something to eat?”

There's just enough light coming through the windshield for him to make out Woozi's face when he turns, and the expression he finds waiting for him nearly makes him burst out laughing. Gone is the teasing smirk, the eyes glinting brightly with mischief, the flash of teeth from a moment before.

Woozi blinks at him now, pale and pitiful, cheek bruised from the alley wall, and says, “Seriously?”

He's more fragile than he has any right to be.

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s a cop and it is duty to uphold the law, but he’s just brought a prostitute to his favourite noodle bar and bought him dinner.

There’s an all you can eat special, and Woozi might be small but he can sure pack it away in a hurry.

Seungcheol sits and watches him eat, his smile as he chews, the still-strong line of his throat, his broadening shoulders, his pink tongue curling along his fingers when he licks them. Seungcheol wonders when he last ate something warm, or something he _didn’t_ have to suck dick for.

Woozi laughs at him for it, and says, “You’re the weirdest cop I’ve ever met.”

Seungcheol hums distractedly in response. He’s staring at Woozi's lips—slick and just a little bit swollen—and belatedly jerks his gaze up to meet Woozi's eyes. Up close like this, the boy is distracting as hell.

“You meet a lot of cops?” Seungcheol asks, taking a sip of his tea.

Woozi gives a shrug that's far from careless. “Shit happens, you know. I’m usually better at not getting caught, but you didn’t look like a cop at first. Not that you looked like a John either, but it was a slow night and I figured— _hey_ , this guy’s pretty hot. He probably wants some ass and maybe I’ll _actually_ enjoy it this time.”

Seungcheol just stares helplessly. He's not accustomed to being lost for words. He always knows what to say.

For the first time in his life, he doesn't even know where to start.

Thankfully, Woozi more than happily fills the silence with his rambling.

“ _Shouldn’t_ you guys be uniformed if you’re making arrests or something? I’m pretty sure that’s a law.” Woozi babbles, digging a prawn from his plate and nipping it neatly in half. He mulls over something as he chews, then points his chopsticks at Seungcheol. “Hold on a second, is this some kind of _new_ police ‘out-reach’ programme you’re running? Instead of arresting guys like me, you buy them dinner and hope they see the error of their ways? Because—that’s an _awesome_ idea. I’m not saying it’s going to effective, but it’s _way_ more appealing than having those religious kooks trying to _‘save my soul’_.” He snorts.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I’m not doing this because of an ‘out-reach’ programme. I have no idea _what_ I’m doing to be honest, I—I should have taken you in by now.” He says, making no effort to keep the sheepishness from his tone, or the deprecating smile from his mouth.

Woozi blinks away some of his visible scepticism. The edge of his mouth twitches upwards, quirking into a pointed half-smile.

“Hmm. So what—you’re just _bored_? Buying me dinner out of the kindness of your cop heart?” He sneers, because maybe that will make him feel better about himself. He pushes his plate to the side and leans forward on his elbows, “Or are you doing all this _just_ so you feel less guilty when you take me home and fuck me?” He grins. His tone is teasing, but his eyes are heavy.

Seungcheol wants to deny the accusation, but his voice lodges somewhere in his throat and the words refuse to come.

He can’t stand the way Woozi’s looking at him, with an infuriatingly smug expression like Seungcheol’s proven him right.

He lunges forward and reaches across the table, grabbing Woozi’s wrist, fingertips pressing nicely just beneath the bone. The boy flinches back in surprise, but he doesn’t try and pull away when Seungcheol tugs him forward and holds his arm flat against the table, palm up and parallel to his.

There’s no mistaking it for what it is; matching ink on their wrists, the words by which they'd recognised each other for what they were.

Seungcheol can feel Woozi's surprise—accompanied by the rapid rhythm of Woozi's pulse where their wrists press together—and beneath that a sharp spike of desire so strong he nearly groans aloud.

Woozi continues to look dazed for a second but snaps out of it quickly and yanks his hand back, rubbing ruefully at his wrist.

It’s not a peaceful interlude for either of them. Silent, edgy, weighted.

Woozi’s wearing a different look now, guilty and guarded. As though he's struggling to rebuild whatever wall just came down. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting them to meet under _these_ circumstances, is ashamed of what little he has to offer as a paid per hour rent boy.

Seungcheol wants to assure him he couldn’t care less.

He’s waited for so long for this moment and now that he _knows_ who Woozi is, he wants him so badly his chest aches.

He dares to breach the distance between them, reclaiming Woozi’s hand with both of his. He’s more gentle this time, carefully tracing his thumb over those lovely fingers, brushing against delicate wrists soothingly.

There was a point of no return somewhere, miles behind them, and now it just feels like fighting the inevitable. This is _fate_.

“What’s your name?” Seungcheol tries again.

Woozi’s face isn't frozen anymore, though the expression on it is a bit hard to read. Pain, Seungcheol thinks, or maybe _hope_. He’s a wild thing, poised and delicate, yet so very lethal. It stirs something in Seungcheol, something tender.

“Jihoon.” He answers at last. Lifting his gaze to looking at Seungcheol directly. His jaw flexes, delicate throat working in an uncomfortable swallow; the minute motions of fear, of determination. “Lee Jihoon.”

“ _Jihoon_.” Seungcheol echoes with a smile, “That’s more like it. It suits you.”

Jihoon only breathes a dry grunt of laughter, but there’s a tentative smile breaking across his face; soft and shy and _genuine_. It's enough to light a spark of hope.

“I’m Seungcheol.”

* * *

 

Seungcheol settles the bill and guides Jihoon back outside to the car.

He doesn’t force Jihoon in the back, he doesn’t cuff him again either—he just opens the front passenger door and nods pointedly.

Jihoon _could_ make a run for it— _easily_ , he might even get away this time. But he doesn’t even try. He slides into his seat without a word and waits for Seungcheol to circle to the driver’s side and settle in.

“Where—where are you taking me now?” He asks in a soft, uncertain voice.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world to reach over and cup Jihoon’s cheek. Jihoon flinches at the touch, plainly startled, but then he’s relaxing into it all at once, eyes sliding closed, leaning into his touch.

“Home.”

Seungcheol’s a cop, and it’s his duty to uphold the law, but he’s going to make exceptions for his soulmate.

**Author's Note:**

> Also no smut. WHAT THE HELL.  
> Although this easily could become smutty if you wanted me to continue. I have ideas :)  
> I generally hate soulmate AU's, but I gave it a shot.  
> Hope you enjoyed reading!  
> Feedback always appreciated.


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